


bleeding the ink

by missMHO



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Tattoos, M/M, Magical Tattoos, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-30 14:48:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3940849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missMHO/pseuds/missMHO
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every child learns about the Marks pretty soon in their lives. It’s impossible not to spot them. Everyone’s skin is ornamented with them - words and pictures, in black and in colour, vivid or fading… People are covered in their life story, and though most of the Marks are metaphorical and some have a meaning known only to the owner, you can learn a lot about a person just from a single glance. Marks appear on one’s skin when something important happens in their lives, as an aftermath, a memory you won’t ever be able to wipe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just love this AU and mattimir is slowly taking over my mind. (The rating will most probably go up.)
> 
> I'm not a native speaker of English. I'm sorry for all the stupid mistakes you'll find in this. We're not on good terms with articles.

 

The first thing Vladimir registers upon waking up is _pain_. His right side is burning with it and it seems to be radiating onto his whole torso. It wouldn’t be the first time he wakes up to such a state so he isn’t in much of a shock and regains his composure quite quickly. He swallows a groan of pain and finally takes in his surroundings.

He has no idea where he is.

It’s day outside and huge unblinded windows are letting the morning light in. He’s not sure what day it is, though. He’s lying on a couch in a flat he has never been in before. It’s simple, spacious, and holds no obvious clue as to whom it belongs to. He tries to recall the last thing he remembers before waking up here... Anatoly’s body. Revenge. Bombings. The Masked Man. The questions about Fisk. _Dying_ … How did he end up here? This can’t be the afterlife, it’s too _nice._ The pain is definitely not a reward and the couch is far from comfortable but still, this is more than he deserved for his sins. Maybe he’s in a coma and this is some kind of twisted dream?

Vladimir looks back to his own figure. He’s shirtless so he can clearly see his wounds has been treated to, there are fresh stitches on his side. Maybe he is alive after all - but _how?_ Then his Marks catch his eye and distract him from assessing the damage done to his body. Most of the Marks have been on his skin for years, some decades, and he’s used to the sight, but there’s something drawing his gaze, something disrupted in the view.

The star on his left collarbone is bleeding.

Every child learns about the Marks pretty soon in their lives. It’s impossible not to spot them. Everyone’s skin is ornamented with them - words and pictures, in black and in colour, vivid or fading… People are covered in their life story, and though most of the Marks are metaphorical and some have a meaning known only to the owner, you can learn a lot about a person just from a single glance. Marks appear on one’s skin when something important happens in their lives, as an aftermath, a memory you won’t ever be able to wipe.

You can never control what appears on your body nor you can change what’s already been inked into your skin. Some try to add tattoos of their own design but there’s always something off about the artificial ink. You can always tell apart a tattoo from a Mark, the former always somehow screaming _counterfeit_. Though some cover themselves in so much artificial ink, the Marks are not so conspicuous, but you can neither fully hide them, nor truly remove them. It has yet to be discovered what really stands behind the phenomenon of the Marks, what is the pattern of their emergence, why do they appear after some events but they do not in some situations that one would consider significant.

The biggest mystery are the soulmate Marks.

Upon meeting one’s soulmate, a Mark forms on your skin, a symbol of your bond to the other person. Both soulmates are ornamented with the same Mark, but it cannot point you in the direction of your soulmate beforehand, it does not give you his or her name. It is simply a symbol that may mean everything to you or nothing. But if you have a matching set of Marks, then the other person is supposed to be the one destined to be with you. Many do not believe it even when they encounter the person with a matching Mark. Some chose to ignore the Marks. Some wait patiently for theirs, for years and decades. Some never get it.

Vladimir never cared much for the soulmate Mark. His first Mark, one that appeared after his mother’s death, after Anatoly and him were left under “care” of their drunkard father, was identical to one on his brother’s body. He still remembers how scared they were when they both started feeling this weird stinging sensation on the skin on their chest. Then a matching pair of stars appeared on their collarbones, a symbol of brotherhood and their bond. While they never read it as _the_ soulmate Mark, they never cared much for the actual one. They had each other and it was enough. There is no place for love and soulmates in this twisted cruel world.

But now, in this strange flat, after Vladimir almost died, his most precious Mark is changed. The star over his heart is darker, a line of dripping blood starts in the middle of it and goes on down his torso for about ten centimetres. It must have changed upon the discovery of Anatoly’s cold body but Vladimir didn’t exactly have time to see how the ink reflected his brother’s death on his skin. Revenge was definitely more important than the damned Marks.

It is not unheard of for the already existing Marks to change. But it is the first time for Vladimir and this is just _cruel_.

He finds himself unable to look away. His eyes fixed on the bleeding star on his skin, he feels his heartbeat quicken up, his breathing becomes more ragged, and grief hits him with double force.

“Are you okay?”

Vladimir jumps at the query which brings a new wave of pain in his side and the world blurs for a moment. Then the man who asked the question comes into view. It’s the Masked Man, the vigilante who apparently likes to ask a lot of questions and keep his enemies alive. The mask is still in place on the his face but he’s wearing a suit, full on white shirt and tie, and the combination evokes such a discord in Vladimir’s mind that he actually forgets the man expects an answer from him.

“Are you okay?” the Mask repeats himself, this time talking slower and a little bit louder.

“Where the fuck am I, засранец?”

“Yeah, you’re okay,” a small smile appears on the man’s lips and he does up the last button of his shirt. The movement draws Vladimir’s gaze towards the man’s neck and he notices part of a Mark protruding from the Mask’s clothing. Just two curved lines, connecting in one place just above the shirt’s collar. It’s the first Mark of the Mask that he got a glimpse of. As a vigilante who wants his identity kept secret, the man is right to keep them out of sight. “You’re in my flat.”

“You really are stupid,” Vladimir says, incredulously. “Why not just let me die?”

The man tilts his head and bites into his lower lip, as if he was looking for the answer of the question himself. “You’re now my only shot at getting Fisk,” he replies finally.

Vladimir smiles cruelly but the man seems unfazed by his expression, one that Vladimir knows has put fear into many men. “Why you think I will help you?” he spats when the non-verbal threat evokes no response.

“I am now your best shot at getting Fisk,” the Mask says, a little bit amused and definitely proud of himself. “And getting your revenge.” He puts on his jacket, collects a briefcase from the table, and sets off towards the exit from the flat. Vladimir watches him closely, like a predator who was put in a cage with another beast of prey. The man is by the door when he turns around to acknowledge again the Russian mobster on his couch.

“Stay put and don’t mess up your stitches. They won’t be as pretty as they are now when I’m the one sewing you together.”

He takes of the Mask just before opening the door and disappears behind them. The only thing Vladimir caught a glimpse of was a mop of brown hair. Not much to go on.

“Пошелнахуй, “ Vladimir yells after him. It makes him feel a little bit better.

Vladimir takes a deep breath. He should be trying to get out of here now. Mask just left him here to his own devices. So careless, that кретин.

But moving do seem like an undertaking requiring too much effort to bother with. And where would he go in such a state? He lifts his left hand to hover his fingertips above the stitching, not really touching but taking in the damage nonetheless. That really wouldn't be a desired turn of events if his wound re-opened.

He retreats his hand to lay it back on the couch where it was so far lying inert by his side. This is when he sees it.

A completely new Mark.

On the inside of his left forearm there’s a Mark. It’s quite big, taking about half the space between his elbow and wrist. It’s a simple picture of an eye that’s crossed by a scar. Any symbolic value of the latter is not hard to decipher. He was never vain and not a person to stare at the reflection of his own face in the mirror but he knows his own scar. How it starts above his eyebrow and then cuts down to bifurcate in the middle of his cheek. A reminder of his time in the Siberian prison, better than any Mark that could appear on his skin after that time.

That’s not the part of the Mark that draws his attention, though. The eye itself is what confuses him. The iris is red, almost blurred. There’s no pupil. It seems _blind_.

“Что это должно означать?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> засранец - kind of like “little shit” but in a fully pejorative way - not the way we affectionately call our favourite characters little shits XD  
> Пошел на хуй - fuck you  
> кретин - cretin  
> Что это должно означать? - what is that supposed to mean?
> 
> It’s hard for me to translate all the curses faithfully. I am Polish and I learnt some Russian at university so adding Russian phrases while writing Vladimir comes quite naturally to me. And some of the beauty of the curses is untranslatable into English. I do love Slavic languages for their smorgasbord of swear words <3
> 
> \-----
> 
> As Vladimir is pretty heavily inked in the canon, I based some of the Marks on the ones we could see in the show. For example, [the stars he and Anatoly have.](https://40.media.tumblr.com/591c35dd5ac6ef77a5f8e37e6a8dbd06/tumblr_nod745PBjw1qmzk6lo1_1280.png) I also made some [projects of the scarred eye Mark](https://41.media.tumblr.com/577bf732acc3d3113e73531caeeec19b/tumblr_nod745PBjw1qmzk6lo2_r1_400.jpg), but drawing isn't really a skill I could be proud of, so it's not really what I wanted. But you can get the rough idea, I guess.


	2. Chapter 2

 

Vladimir does not remember falling asleep thus upon waking up, he experiences a moment of confusion once again. The memories of the last twenty four hours come back to him and he snorts at the irony of his own fucking life. He lost his brother, the only thing that mattered in this damned world, and now he’s on a couch of a man he thought to be responsible for this loss just some hours ago. He is nobody now, thought to be dead most probably, his organisation in shreds if not non-existent, and he’s lying on a very uncomfortable couch in a vigilante’s flat.

He tries to sit up, slowly and with some grunts of pain. That couch is a pain in the ass. Literally.

Only now Vladimir notices there’s food on the coffee table. A plate of simple sandwiches, a bottle of water, and some painkillers. They must be there since the man left in the morning as the cheese on the sandwiches is already dried on the corners. Vladimir must have been too engrossed with the whole situation and the Marks to take note of it before.

Yes, _the Marks_. The brand new one, the scarred blind eye, catches his gaze again as he reaches for the water. What the fuck is that Mark supposed to mean?! It’s vexing whenever he looks at it but Vladimir was never one to muse too much about the Marks so he leaves the topic for now. If he is to learn the reason for it, it will come clear without him worrying about it constantly.

He sighs deeply, then regrets it immediately as this kind of movement of his chest brings a new wave of pain. Then he drinks the water, eats the sandwiches, and thankfully takes the painkillers before he gets up to explore the flat. He also has a plan of fleeing it after gathering some useful data on the vigilante. But as he becomes aware how incapable of moving aroud he is, the idea of escape is abandoned.

The flat is quite boring. It bares no personal touch, no photographs or even a shelf of DVDs. There’s no TV at all, actually. What kind of person does not own a TV set nowadays? This might be even more concerning than the mask thing.

After a brief and disappointing tour of the flat, Vladimir feels the need to lay down again. He takes another portion of the painkillers, probably overdosing a bit but he’s far from caring. This time he walks by the couch, enters the adjoining room and impudently takes the bed. The idea this may be overstepping some boundaries does not even cross his mind when he sighs with relief  and relaxes on the extremely comfortable bed.

ж

He wakes up to a loud crash, as if some furniture was thrown against the wall.

It’s dark already and there are people in the other part of the flat. He lifts himself slightly off the bedding, the pain throbbing in his side, and tries to determine what’s going on just from his hearing.

Two people. Men. Fighting.

“You can’t even tag an old man!” one of them says. The fight continues and Vladimir’s still groggy mind is having hard time keeping up. Then one of them falls hard on the ground. Part of Vladimir hopes it’s not the vigilante. Part of him wonders why should he care.

“Get up. Get up!” one of the man shouts. It’s not the familiar pleasant voice of the Masked Man, Vladimir does not recognize it. It must mean it’s the vigilante that’s on the ground. “Get up!”

It’s the Vladimir that’s getting up now, slowly sitting up on the bed. He’s not sure what he plans to do, considering he was not feeling well enough to escape the flat, let alone fight with someone who has just beaten the Masked Man but he feels like he should do _something_. Then the sounds of  the fight resume and the Russian freezes in place. Exclamations of extortion mix with groans of pain and fill the air before another loud _thud_ of a body being slammed onto the floor reverberates through the flat. Then some more punches and--

“Get out of my city.”

It’s the vigilante’s voice. It must mean he’s got the upper hand now.

Vladimir lays back on the bed with a sigh of relief. His aching body seems thankful to be back in this position.

The other man says something more about some sticks and “catching up” and then slams the door. The vigilante must have known his opponent then.

A few almost silent minutes follow. Vladimir hears some shuffling in the other part of the flat but it’s hard to tell what exactly is happening. Then the vigilante appears in the entrance to the bedroom, his whole regalia in place, including the mask covering the upper half of his face. But the line of his lips is enough to see the man is suffering. He seems to be aching all over, keeping his body slightly hunched, but there seems to be more to it.

The man huffs at the sight of Vladimir in his bed, shakes his head but says nothing, and collapses onto the bed next to the Russian. He lays down without a word, his back to Vladimir, and falls asleep.

Vladimir feels too awake in this very moment. He just spent the whole day sleeping and he might not have been a part of the fight in the next room, but he still felt his adrenaline spiking. He does not feel like leaving the bed though. He continues to just lie there, listening to the sounds of the city at night, the sirens and screams and loud laughs of drunk people. But Vladimir swiftly gets bored and moves his gaze around the room, trying to pierce the darkness, until is stops on the figure of the sleeping vigilante. It’s quite light in the flat considering there are no lights on. There must be some strong source of light outside, dispersing the darkness, as it seeps through the huge windows.

At first glance there’s nothing extraordinary in the vigilante’s silhouette. He wears plain black clothes, the mask is tied securely at the back of his head. But there’s _something_ interesting in that simple sight of vigilante’s back. There’s a Mark on the back of his neck.

It must be brand new and the man must not be aware of it yet. Uncovered Marks must be a liability when you try to keep your identity secret. At least, that’s what Vladimir thinks. But in such a place as the back of the neck, well, the man must have simply overlooked it. There are some who check for new Marks every morning but there are some who simply do not care enough to regularly look for the new ones. Vladimir belongs to the latter group and it may seem now that the vigilante shares that trait with him.

The Mark is quite interesting itself and Vladimir finds himself fascinated by all its intricacies. It’s a mask, but not like the one the vigilante wears. This one brings association to theatre in the Vladimir’s mind. The mask is divided into two parts, one dark and one light. The left, dark part, depicts more of a cruel frown in terms of the mien, and there’s a devil-like horn growing from its lobe. The right, lighter part, is different, kinder but also sadder, with a single tear in the corner of the eye - or rather the blank space where the eye would be if the mask was worn. Is it a symbol of the man becoming the vigilante? Having two faces?

Vladimir catches himself halfway when reaching with his hand to touch it. He recoils his hand with an annoyed huff and closes his eyes. He must leave tomorrow. This situation is getting ridiculous.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to this story is making me so happy! I hope you'll like the rest of it as well.  
> Again [I tried to sketch the tattoo](https://41.media.tumblr.com/398e7506485c3cd7d7979db25f756527/tumblr_nod745PBjw1qmzk6lo3_r1_400.jpg). I think I deserve the "you tried" star :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a bit uncooperative... But I am so excited for the next one!!! Looking at what I already have of it, it will also be longer than the previous ones :)
> 
> The reponse this fic is getting is still blowing my mind. I am so happy this ship has this many readers! (ﾉ◉ヮ◉)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧.

Most of the night Vladimir spends on planning what he’s going to do when he leaves. The obvious places to go in such a situation blew up thanks to Madame Gao’s blind messengers. And _Fisk_. Turning to any of the other mobster leaders is out of the question as well. Not that he was close with any of them, he never trusted them. There was always Anatoly and him and they did not need anyone else. He has no idea who of his people survived the bombings and who is still loyal. They all must think he’s dead. He could go back to his flat, it was always more of a safe house than a home so he should be secure there, _but what then_? As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, the Masked Man is right - he _is_ Vladimir’s best way of getting his revenge on Fisk. Maybe putting Fisk in jail is not his favoured mean of avenging the murder of his brother, but he can work with it for now. He can just use the Mask to find Fisk - the man will be even more cautious with hiding himself now - and then apply his own methods.

After the night spent musing on the topic, Vladimir wakes up uneasy and feeling as if a train rode over him at night. It’s just this kind of morning when you don’t really feel like waking up at all.

He hears some shuffle that his groggy mind is unable to identify at first. Vladimir opens his eyes to the view of the vigilante putting his shirt on. He catches the sight of a couple of Marks on the expanse of the well-sculpted back. He fully takes in only the biggest one - the depiction of the goddess of justice - her eyes blindfolded and scales in hand. It starts low on the right and takes up almost one third of the man’s back. It’s black and white but detailed and quite stunning. Vladimir sees a smudge of something red higher on vigilante’s back but he gets too distracted by the movement of the muscles to get a better look. Then, too soon, it’s all covered by the cloth of the shirt.

Vladimir can’t help feeling regret at losing the sight. Not only because he did not manage to get a good look at all the Marks. If the vigilante’s back was free of them, he still wouldn’t mind the view. He is already highly appreciative of what he could see thanks to this tight black shirt the Masked Man chose for his costume. The muscles are a mouth-watering view, the only thing to really look at in this plain flat.

Subconsciously, Vladimir’s eyes move to his right upper arm and the mocking Mark that resides there. It appeared just after he finally came to terms with being gay. A simple image of a pin-up girl. It was ironic, laughing right in his face everytime he looked at it, but also _safe_. In his line of work being anything other than ladies man dripping with testosterone was problematic. He certainly looked the part of a brute and the men he usually worked with... Well, nobody would ever think of him as gay unless they actually saw him sucking a cock. _Or_ he had a Mark attesting to it. He needs to evoke respect in the simple man of the mob. The tattoo actually helps him in this form and nobody's the wiser. Only Anatoly and him knew the real meaning behind it.

“Good morning.”

Vladimir starts at the voice, still sleepy and lost in thought. The man is fully dressed and now facing the Russian. The mask is in place, as always revealing only the lower part of the man’s face and his sinful lips. Looks like the vigilante himself is the only sight worth noticing in this dump.

“You should shower so we can change the dressing on your wound. That should have been done yesterday,” the man says with a slight scowl.

“No worry, I know you had busy evening,” Vladimir replies as he slowly raises from the bad. “Destroying the flat.”

The man scoffs. “Hurry, I don’t have all day.”

ж

The man is waiting with a fresh dressing and a simple breakfast when Vladimir emerges from the bathroom - where a towel and a set of clean clothes was ready for him. It’s all little bit ridiculous. They are still more enemies than allies and he is not that necessary in the vigilante’s mission... Why should the Masked Man care about his comfort?

“Tell me more about Fisk and his people,” the vigilante says when he inspects the wounds and puts the fresh dressing on them.

“Have you not found Owlsley?”

“I’m working on it, I was interrupted yesterday,” the man responds with clear annoyance. “But come on, you can give me more.”

Vladimir hesitates for a few seconds, observing the other man working. He notices a set of Marks on vigilante’s right hand. Every fingertip is ornamented with a varying set of dots. Vladimir has no idea what that could mean.

“Ебать это все, _okay_ …” he huffs finally. “Fisk is big fish but that you know. I don’t know if my-- if Russian mob survived, _you_ need learn that, Mask. There is Gao, Chinese woman. She is heroin production. There’s man of Yakuza. Don’t remember the name, извините Mr Hero. Fisk’s lapdog is Wesley. Fisk is hard to get and now he will be even harder to find after your... _activity_.”

“Don’t I know it,” the vigilante mutters angrily and he finishes off bandaging Vladimir.

“Your couch is _shit_ ,” Vladimir feels obliged to say now that he has the other man’s attention.

“Yeah, I noticed you like my bed better,” the Mask says, almost amused. It suits him much better than anger.

He does not say anything about not using the bed again.

ж

Once again Vladimir comes to the conclusion that the flat is simply fuckin boring. He does not feel like going outside, still too weak for longer walks, but here he’s close to crawling out of his skin. Additionally today he’s wearing the vigilante’s clothes and this somehow intensifies the feeling of wrongness of the empty flat. He would really love to watch one of those criminal tv shows Anatoly loved but he himself hated just to have _something_ to do.

At least that’s what he tells himself when he starts rummaging through some of the drawers. At first it’s nothing interesting, just clothes and understandable collection of first aid kits. Then he finds a stash of something that is as interesting as confusing. Two white canes. The kind that a blind person would use. He mutters a few bewildered curses, leaves that drawer open for later inspection, and moves further. In the next piece of furniture he finally finds some documents. To his utter surprise, he is unable to read them. He has never actually seen it with his own eyes before but he’s not that ignorant to be unable to identify the writings. The documents are in Braille.

He runs his fingers curiously over the prominent symbols as he asks himself the most nagging question: could the Masked Man possibly be _blind_? It’s nonsensical. How would he fight if he was blind? On one hand, that mask _is_ a bit absurd and Vladimir wondered from the very beginning how it was not obstructing the vigilante’s vision. But he would never push it to such extremes as assuming the mask is being perfectly logical because the vigilante can’t see at all.

Maybe it is all a play? Maybe the man is pretending to be blind in order to conceal his double life. Nobody would suspect a blind man to be a crime-fighting madman. That would be a perfect sham.

That’s definitely the best explanation.

ж

When the vigilante enters the flat this evening he is welcomed with an apple thrown at his head. He catches it mere centimetres from his forehead.

“Good evening to you, too,” the Masked Man says as walks down the stairs from the rooftop entrance. He must have gone to running around the city in black pyjamas right after the day job he does in all those suits. He’s in his full vigilante array and soaked wet from the rain. “What was that for?” he asks as he approaches the armchair on which Vladimir is seated and throws the apple back at the Russian.

“Are you blind?”

The man freezes in place like a kid caught with his hand in a cookie jar and that is enough of an answer.

“How do you fight? Ублюдок…”

The vigilante hesitates for a few more seconds before he sighs with resignation. He smiles at Vladimir as if he knew some secret that the Russian isn’t privy to.

“There are other ways to see.”

It just adds to the frustration Vladimir is feeling simply from seeing the wet black shirt sticking to the vigilante’s skin in a way that outlines all of the muscles beneath.

“How is hunting Fisk?” he asks, just to distract himself from the absurdity of the situation and lusting after the _blind hero_.

The smile gets wider. “We’re going to expose him tomorrow.”

ж

The next morning they watch the livestream together (or Vladimir watches, for once he truly notices the blindness in the other man as his masked face never truly turns towards the screen but he visibly _listens_ ). Fisk exposed himself first and got an upper hand. They thought they are taking a leap forward today, but they were pushed back too many steps in their mission.

After the vigilante throws his laptop to the ground with a furious growl, Vladimir feels a ludicrous impulse to stand up and comfort the man.

He stays in his place and focuses on the urge to punch something.

“We _will_ get him, герой.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ебать это все (yebat' eto vse) - fuck it all  
> извините (izvinite) - sorry  
> Ублюдок (ublyudok) - clever bastard  
> герой (geroy) - hero
> 
> If you imagined the goddess of justice from the opening sequence as Matt's Mark - you have imagined exactly what I had in mind.  
> The pin-up girl tattoo is again [one that Vladimir actually has in the show](https://40.media.tumblr.com/dc7673995177cb5858ab717e4eecac81/tumblr_nod745PBjw1qmzk6lo4_r1_1280.png).


	4. Chapter 4

That morning Vladimir leaves soon after the vigilante. He’s restless and angry and the thought of sitting in the flat for another day is appalling. For a second he considers tailing the Masked Man but in the end decides against it -  he hasn’t recovered enough to be able to pull it off.

He spends the afternoon walking aimlessly around the Hell’s Kitchen. His wounded side never lets him forget about itself so it’s a time-consuming walk but short in distance. He’s not sure if he’s happy or disappointed that he doesn’t bump into any acquaintances. Being dead to the world is quite freeing but then, at times, feeling like a ghost is disconcerting.

He’s not sure why he comes back to the vigilante’s flat. He has told the man everything, his arrangement with Fisk was quite recent and the man was awfully secretive, he has nothing else to offer to the vigilante. Still, Vladimir comes back - maybe because it’s the only place to come back to.

It’s two hours later that the Masked Man enters the flat. Vladimir is seated in the armchair closer to the window, one he’s come to favour, and reading a cheap crime novel he bought at a news-stall on his trip outside.

“You left,” the vigilante says in a way of greeting. His whole posture speaks _tired_.

“I went for little walk. Your flat is boring.”

“Why are you back? I failed with Fisk. I failed everyone.”

Vladimir frowns, taken aback by the question. The vigilante’s anger from the morning has turned into something more hopeless, desperate…

“What happened?” the Russian cannot stop himself from asking.

“Someone innocent died today,” the vigilante takes a deep breath. He turns his head and it seems as if he was looking straight at Vladimir. The Russian feels a shiver running down his spine even though he knows the other man is blind and this is just an illusion. “Fisk did it… He needs to pay.”

There’s something dark in the vigilante’s voice and Vladimir recognizes it without a problem. Bloodlust. Tonight the man is determined to kill. Even though Vladimir should be the last one to judge, it all feels _wrong_.

The vigilante starts rummaging in a wardrobe Vladimir has looked through earlier. He found a chest with some memorabilia there and something made him leave it untouched as soon as he realised what it is. Dying must have made him soft.

The man takes out his vigilante array out of the chest and starts stripping right there to change into it. Vladimir doesn’t waste his chance and hungrily takes in the sight of his back again. This time he skips the goddess of justice and focuses on the red Mark he did not manage to fully scrutinize the last time. On the man’s left shoulder blade there’s a pair of boxer gloves - they are all in black and white as well. The red is the blood dripping from them... It’s all he manages to see this time before the vigilante’s back is covered by clothing again.

“It’s rude to stare,” the man says without even turning towards Vladimir. He changes his trousers much quicker and though the Russian sees some Marks on his legs as well, he doesn’t catalogue anything in particular.

“How would you know?” he replies, too aware that his heart is going a bit faster. Was that what betrayed him? Vladimir was already suspecting the vigilante is heavily relying on his other senses in order to _see_ , it was the only explanation for the phenomenon, but was the other man actually able to hear his heart speeding up across the room?

The vigilante snorts at Vladimir’s retort and checks the ties on his mask. Only now Vladimir notices he changed the black shirt for one with a higher collar so the mask Mark on his neck was mostly covered. Someone must have told him about it. Fortunately, the new shirt is as tight as the previous one. “I wasn’t always blind, Vladimir,” he says all of a sudden as he puts his gloves on. “I’m aware of savoir-vivre regarding staring.”

Vladimir doesn’t know what to say to that so he just watches as the man walks towards the roof entrance. Every step seems more determined.

“Don’t do anything stupid, мудак,” he says just before the man closes the door behind him.

ж

The night is turning out to be quite interesting for Vladimir. There’s not much to do in the blind man’s flat and the novel he bought today is incredibly dull but tonight comes to offer him some proper entertainment.

The vigilante’s friend, or at least that’s what Vladimir deduces from the stranger’s drunken drawl, is camping by the front door. His main occupation is whining about revenge on someone. Vladimir does not care too much, though he wonders if the “bastard” the man on the other side of the door wants to “nail to the wall” is Fisk. This would make sense considering the Masked Man said someone innocent died today because of him. What actually _is_ of interest to Vladimir is that, thanks to the stranger’s monologue, he finally learns something about the vigilante. His name. _Matt_.

Vladimir was dozing off in his armchair when he first heard someone pounding on the door and now he’s quite content to simply sit there in the glow of that ridiculous billboard and listen to the drunk rumblings of a stranger.

He raises his head sharply when he hears the roof entrance opening. The silhouette of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is easy to recognize.

“How was crime-fighting, Superman?” he accosts the man playfully, the Russian accent especially heavy on the last word. There’s no response which is not anything surprising. But the way the vigilante holds himself evokes a feeling of alarm within the Russian. The man - _Matt_ \- starts to slowly and carefully descend the stairs and that’s when Vladimir is sure that something is _wrong_. He stands up as fast as his injuries allow him to and approaches the stairs. He is not quick enough though and he just watches as the vigilante falls down the last couple of steps. The _thud_ is loud enough for the stranger behind the front door to hear.

“Matt? Are you okay in there? Matt!”

“Глупец!” Vladimir lets a streak of curses in his native tongue out of his mouth as he helps the other man up. The coppery smell of blood hits his nostrils - the man is badly hurt. Still, the stubborn vigilante tries to fight his grip, turning his head towards the roof entrance with visible distress. “Блядь, let me help!”

The vigilante struggles free and in the process stabs Vladimir directly into his recovering side with an elbow. When the Russian let’s go of the other man, he takes another step and falls down again. Vladimir is on his knees second later, trying to assess the damage as now they are closer to the billboard and the glow is finally allowing him to see more.

“Matt?” It’s the voice of the stranger, but he’s not behind the front door anymore, but on the top of stairs. “It’s me, I heard a crash--” The man stops abruptly. He must have spotted them. “Who the hell are you?!”

Vladimir does not even bother to turn around. One of the wounds on the vigilante’s abdomen is pouring blood quite heavily. He needs to stop the bleeding _somehow_ and _now._

“I asked you a question! Who are you?! Where’s Matt?!”

The other man running down the stairs while Vladimir observes how wrecked the vigilante’s shirt is. He manages to rip the front off in one sharp motion and then apply the material to the worst of the wounds. By that time the stranger is hovering above then, breathlessly mumbling his words of confusion.

“That’s the Devil of-- And who are you-- What’s you’re doing in-- _Where’s Matt?!_ ”

So apparently the stranger has no idea his Matt is the vigilante. Well, so far Vladimir had no idea that the vigilante is Matt… It’s time to put some light on all of it.

Keeping the right hand in place and still trying to stop the bleeding to at least some extent, Vladimir reaches with his left towards the mask. He feels excitement bubbling on top of all the emotions buzzing within him as he finally tugs the mask off the vigilante’s face.

“Matt!” he hears an incredulous gasp above him but he’s more occupied with the face that he has been dying to see even when the Masked Man was just an obstacle in his business. The first thought that comes to his mind when Matt’s face is finally revealed to the glow seeping through the windows is that it’s matching the rest of the package, the man is handsome, captivating.

“What the _fuck_! You’re his--?!” the stranger chokes on his own question and that’s when Vladimir finally turns his gaze towards him. The man is not looking at him though, his eyes are fixed on the Russian’s left forearm.

Vladimir’s hand is still gripping the mask next to the vigilante’s head and his left forearm is almost right above Matt’s collarbone. There’s a Mark there, it’s the one that Vladimir has seen protruding from the man’s white shirts. It’s a scarred blind eye. Exactly the same as the one on Vladimir’s forearm. Which can be clearly seen now that they are both next to each other.

Vladimir swallows a nasty curse and stifles the panic that’s suddenly spreading in his chest. He turns back to the stranger.

“He’s bleeding. Call for help!”

The stranger looks as if he was slapped to the face and he seems unable to get a grip on the situation.

“Who should I call?! I can’t call for ambulance, we can’t take him to the hospital, he’s the damned Devil--”

There’s a sharp intake of breath from Matt and his hand clenches around the Russian’s wrist almost displacing the hand which is responsible for keeping the makeshift dressing in place.

“ _No hospital,_ ”Matt hisses through gritted teeth. “Claire. My burner phone. _No one else_.”

The vigilante’s grip on Vladimir’s wrist is surprisingly strong for someone who is dying on the floor. It definitely shows the determination behind his words.

“Okay, мудак. No hospital. We call Claire.”

Matt turns his unseeing eyes on Vladimir for a second before he passes out again.

They find the phone in the vigilante’s outfit and the stranger calls the only number he finds there. It indeed turns out to be a woman named Claire who is familiar with the vigilante situation. She comes soon, works efficiently in silence, gives the stranger - Foggy, as he introduces himself to Claire - some basic advice on dealing with Matt’s wounds and leaves without stalling.

Vladimir seats himself in his armchair and wordlessly observes how events unwind. Claire purposefully ignores him - he’s not surprised, he adds up the facts and realizes she’s the vigilante’s associate whom he ordered to kidnap - but as soon as she’s gone and the situation is no longer critical, Foggy turns towards him.

“How long have you been with Matt?”

“These are not my answers to give.”

Foggy lets out an annoyed huff but doesn’t ask any more questions. He sits down in the other armchair and they both wait in silence for Matt to wake up.

ж

“So, you can see…”

“That's not... You're not… Are you even listening to what I'm saying?”

“Yeah, world on fire, I got it. But you can see, right?”

“Yeah, in a manner of speaking. But I…”

Vladimir kind of feels like he shouldn’t be present for this conversation. From what he already deduced from it, Matt and Foggy have been friends for years and apparently had next to no secrets between themselvees… Well, beside the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen affair.

And maybe Vladimir shouldn’t be there now but he’s too engrossed with learning more about Matt to care. There is no mask covering his identity now and Vladimir finds himself drawn to studying the lines of his face. The unseeing eyes are still unsettling at times but their colour is captivating and Vladimir keeps gazing at them. It’s easy when the other man cannot catch you doing it and glare back at you.

Well, he guesses he does have a right to stare at his _soulmate_.

It still feels surreal. Vladimir was pretty content without one all these years. It feels like a responsibility, a promise he didn’t want to make… They are a pair of a vigilante and a criminal. This has no right to work. Though it does explain some things - why Matt saved him in the first place and allowed him to stay in his home or why Vladimir was looking for excuses to remain close to the vigilante. Soulmates are supposed to feel subconsciously drawn to each other…

The Mark is exposed on Matt’s skin. The scarred eye suddenly seems mocking in Vladimir’s mind.

But he has nothing to worry about, really. Matt won’t see it so he’ll never know and Vladimir doesn’t plan to tell him. Not that Matt would believe him...

“You could have at least told me you’ve found your freakin’ soulmate!” Foggy yells and Vladimir stops breathing for a moment. “I could understand your double life as a vigilante being kept secret, though I still feel like it’s a dick move, Murdock, but you could have told me about keeping your Russian soulmate in your flat! This is something you usually inform your friend about!”

Matt opens his mouth and stays speechless for a few seconds before he chokes out “Soulmate?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Мудак (mudak) - asshole  
> глупец (glupets) - stupid man  
> Блядь (blatch) - fuck (there’s no better translation but it’s a strong curse. a strong fuck. a hulk fuck xD)
> 
> Aaaaaaaaaaaand shit went down ;>


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short one but I probably won't be able to write anything more till the weekend and I didn't want to leave you for so long with such a cliffhanger.
> 
> OMG THIS HAS MORE THAN 200 KUDOS, THANK YOU, BLESS YOU, YOU'RE ALL AMAZEBALLS <3

Foggy turns his astonished gaze towards Vladimir.

“You didn’t tell him?”

“I didn’t know,” Vladimir says truthfully. “I saw the Mark _after_ you.”

Vladimir observes as realisation dawns on Foggy’s face and the man becomes visibly paler. Matt keeps on clenching and unclenching his hands on the rug, trying to take in the information.

“Did you blow up those buildings? Shoot those cops?” Foggy asks all of a sudden and Vladimir is grateful for the change of the topic. He does not want to have the soulmate conversation now and if the little sigh Matt lets out is any indication, he’s content to postpone it as well. The vigilante definitely needs to sort things out with his friend before he deals with another crisis.

Vladimir gets up as quietly as he can and moves to sit on the bed in the next room. It’s not truly giving the other men their privacy, but he’s put his distance, letting them now he’s out of the equation for now.

It does not stop him from listening, though.

He learns a lot about the vigilante. What his motivations are and how he learnt about his abilities… _What_ actually he can do. Vladimir’s previous guesses turn out to be true - he does have the hearing that allows him to hear a heartbeat across the room. But not only that, there’s so much _more_ he can know from his enhanced senses. When someone lies, for example. That’s definitely something Vladimir wanted to know before they deal with the soulmate situation.

Some of the Marks he earlier spotted on the vigilante’s body gain more denotation in Vladimir’s mind. Matt is a lawyer which explains the goddess of justice on his back. His father was a boxer which must be connected with the bloodied boxer gloves… He takes in this information greedily, his eagerness to discover everything connected with the other man’s Marks growing as he knows more and more.

Vladimir learns that when Matt left last night as the vigilante, it was with intention to kill. Maybe if he delivered, this soulmate absurdity would have more sense. But the Russian is glad Matt did not get blood on his hands, you can never come back from that. Vladimir’s first kill was in self-defence. Next ones were necessary for Anatoly’s and his survival. But after that he stopped caring about right or wrong reasons. He would never like to see Matt become like this. He may not know the man well and there may never develop a deeper relationship, but Vladimir’s sure he never wants to see the other man truly stain his soul in such profound way.

“Maybe it isn't only about justice, Matt,” Foggy wonders out loud at some point. It’s already dark outside and the glow of the billboard is the only source of light, giving the conversation an eerie quality. “Maybe it's about you having an excuse to hit someone. Maybe you just can't stop yourself.”

“I don't want to stop.”

Maybe, in some other life, where the Russian is closer to the good end of the spectrum and the vigilante crosses one of the borders he has put for himself now, Vladimir and Matt would be actually worth one another.

When not so long after, Matt is choking on his suppressed sobs, Vladimir feels like punching somebody as well. Their soulmate bond must have started to develop without them even realising. Matt needed someone to support him in fighting Fisk and Vladimir had to hold to someone after losing everything, after losing Anatoly… They weren’t even aware that they formed this weird arrangement because of something more, something incomprehensible and beyond their influence. This ridiculous something is what makes Vladimir want to comfort the other man when Foggy walks out of the flat in rage, leaving the vigilante in pieces…

Vladimir is not sure how to approach the other man or if there’s anything he can do for Matt. So he simply takes a seat by his side on the couch, their sides touching, and tries to just _be_ there when Matt’s breathing slows and he finally seems to calm down after the final confrontation with his friend.

“It actually explains as lot, doesn’t it?” Matt says quietly after a while. He does not need to specify he means their Marks and how they were drawing them together against any rational course of action.

“I really believed it’s your hobby to pick up dying criminals,” Vladimir answers and when Matt snorts, the Russian counts it as a win. They sit in silence for another couple of minutes, both unsure how to proceed now.

“What does it look like?”

The question catches Vladimir off guard at first but soon he comes to the conclusion he’d want to know that as well if he were in Matt’s shoes.

Vladimir shifts in his seat a little, so he’s facing the vigilante’s side now. He slowly raises his hand and slides the hem of the vigilante’s hoodie aside to have access to the Mark residing above the man’s collarbone. Matt’s takes a sharp intake of breath when the Russian brushes his skin but does nothing to interrupt the action.

“It’s an eye,” Vladimir describes as he follows the outline with his fingertip. “It’s red as blood and… seems blind.” Then he moves his finger higher to indicate where the scar starts and traces the lines down. “There’s a scar. The same as I have on my right eye.”

Matt doesn’t react in any considerable way for a moment. Then he carefully moves his hand towards Vladimir’s face. When he’s not stopped, Matt’s calloused fingertips begin to trace the lines of the original scar. The vigilante’s light touch seems to be burning Vladimir’s skin in the rightest of ways.

“Where’s yours?”

Vladimir moves his hand off Matt’s chest to wrap it around the vigilante’s and aligns their forefingers. He steers their joined hands to his own forearm and traces the Mark in the same way as he did just moments ago on the other man’s chest, guiding Matt’s fingertip.

“If Foggy didn’t slip today, would you have told me?”

Vladimir looks up at the unseeing eyes of the vigilante, his handsome face, the tempting lips.

There’s no use lying to Matt, so Vladimir answers truthfully to both his soulmate and himself.

“Я… I didn’t want to but… I don’t know now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Я (ya) - I (as in first person singular XD)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it has taken me so long to update! I am in the middle of my finals and in addition this chapter just didn't want to cooperate with me. I hope it's good enough to make up for the waiting D:
> 
> Also, oh my Loki, this fic now has over 300 kudos? When did it happen? I am so happy but also so overwhelmed with the feedback this fic is getting. THANK YOU SO MUCH! I really do hope now that the rating-going-up part is enough of a thank you for all of you <3

The next morning Vladimir goes out to do some basic grocery shopping. Matt is still badly hurt and they didn’t exactly come up with anything concrete when it comes to the soulmate issue... Aiding the vigilante in such a simple matter is the least he can do now. It’s a laughable payback for saving one’s life but Vladimir is not exactly the good guy so the good intentions will have to suffice.

When he returns to the flat he is welcomed by the sight of shirtless Matt sitting cross-legged on the floor. Vigilante’s eyes are closed and it’s easy to see how concentrated he is. It’s not the weirdest thing Vladimir has seen him do, so he just shrugs and walks with the groceries to the kitchen. On his way he comes across a balloon floating in the air, its tail-like ribbon attached to the backrest of a dining chair. There’s a monkey on it and Vladimir is not sure he wants to know why is it here. He was gone for an hour, where the fuck did Matt get a balloon from?

Vladimir puts all the products that should be kept in the fridge in their rightful place and leaves the rest on the counter. He takes an apple and then seats himself by the dining table. He enjoys his way through the sweet fruit while observing shirtless Matt, once again taking in all the Marks on the vigilante’s back. He still wants to ask about them, learn more, but he’s really not sure where they stand now in their “relationship”. None of them is dealing with the soulmate issue particularly well... An empty bottle of beer on the table does not go unnoticed but Vladimir is the last to judge anyone for drinking alcohol, no matter the time of day.

The Russian is playing with the apple core, bored but also content with this calm moment and how blissfully blank his mind seems, when Matt stands up in one sudden movement.

“What you’re doing, кретин?!” Vladimir stands up too and approaches the other man who’s already swaying. His wounds must have opened with such a violent change of position. Matt hisses with pain and grabs his side just as red starts to paint the white bandages.

“How did you stay alive this long?” Vladimir asks as he helps Matt to walk to the coach.

“Looks like fate wanted me to meet my mobster soulmate so he can fuss over me,” the vigilante replies as he sits down with a grunt. Vladimir snorts and without asking he slightly lifts the bandage wrapped around Matt’s waist to see the damage - he opened his wounds just as the Russian expected. Matt doesn’t comment on Vladimir invading his personal space. The soulmate bond makes them unfettered within each other’s space - which they should have noticed when Matt first allowed a Russian mobster to sleep with him in one bed - as well as pulls them towards one another. Vladimir wants to touch, get closer… But at the same time he still doesn’t feel like he earned his right to do it. He has blood on his hands and he does not wish to taint Matt with his touch.

“You should call your nurse friend,” Vladimir mutters. “I’m better at making wounds, not fixing them.”

Matt doesn’t comment on it, just lies down on the couch in order not to mess the wound more. He takes his burner phone out of his sweat pants and makes the call while Vladimir fetches some lint for a makeshift dressing.

The nurse arrives soon after. She gives Matt a lecture on how irresponsible he is and Vladimir observes it with satisfaction. She also scolds the vigilante for still keeping a Russian mobster in his flat. She’s taken aback by the soulmate Marks and no one holds it against her. Both Matt and Vladimir are still bewildered by their existence and the damned Marks are on their own skin. She works quickly and efficiently. After dealing with Matt, though with visible discontent, she also removes the Russian’s stitches. The skin is still too sensitive and the scarring already looks quite ugly. It’s going to be a reminder of how the vigilante saved his life against his will as much as a Mark would be.

After the nurse tells Matt she’s going away, he fortunately takes the information to heart and doesn’t attempt any more sudden movements that day. He stays in bed, immersed in his own thoughts. Vladimir leaves him to it and takes a seat in the armchair he has already grown fond of. He bought another cheap paperback when he was out for groceries. By the cover he thought it’s going to be a thriller but it turns out the sensational plot is somewhere in the background. The main plot is romantic one, about star-crossed soulmates of course. He hates it but there are no other distractions so he does not put it down until he gets hungry.

He leaves some food by Matt’s bed about the dinnertime, murmuring that he should eat. As an afterthought he comes back with a bottle of water and some painkillers and then leaves the vigilante alone for the rest of the day.

The book is a pile of shit from the beginning till the last page.

He sleeps on the goddamned couch for the next night in a row. It’s as if the discovery of the Marks - which was supposed to tie them together like nothing else could - was actually what put the distance between them. They were getting close and it seemed so natural they never questioned it… They can’t ignore their bond forever but with how things are at the moment, it seems the best of solutions for now.

ж

In the morning, Matt leaves for the church without further explanation. Vladimir goes out soon after him. There are things that need to be taken care of and he procrastinated enough.

It feels like ages since Vladimir left the proximity of Matt’s home and it’s almost uncomfortable. He’s not really sure when or _if_ he’s going back to the vigilante’s flat but it somehow still feels like a betrayal. But he needs to go, he can’t continue to be a ghost forever. It’s time to face reality.

It is not that hard to find the place. He buys a burner phone and a couple of anonymous phone calls with a dash of manipulation is enough for Vladimir to get the location.

He feels tears burning in his eyes when he first lays eyes on Anatoly’s gravestone. It’s a mixture of grief and rage and how _lost_ he has felt since his brother is lacking from his life. And he still didn’t avenge him. He was not the one to bury him. He failed his brother at the very end.

Next to Anatoly’s grave is his own.

He’s not really that surprised by its presence. It was logical to assume he’s dead, he was last seen during the bombings and no one has heard from or about him since, he did not attend Anatoly’s funeral…

His people did good. It’s a comforting cognizance to know that after Ranskahov brothers were gone, somebody remained loyal to their memory. They were ready in case of such a turn of events and left money for their burial with only few people trusted enough to be given access to it. The graves are proof that they chose well and their people fulfilled their duty till the end.

Vladimir sits down in front of their graves. He lets himself get immersed in the memories, indulges in the peculiar feeling of seeing his own name on a gravestone, and finally pays his respect to his brother... He tries to imagine Anatoly’s reaction to the discovery that The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is Vladimir’s soulmate. He would have a really good laugh, Vladimir’s sure of it.

ж

In the evening he retires to a safehouse that only Anatoly and him knew of. It’s empty, cold, and covered in dust but the latter is the best indication that the flat is safe. The stash of money is where he remembers hiding it and it feels good to have cash on him, being independent again is a comforting awareness. The following morning he goes shopping and finally feels more like himself when he’s out of the clothes that the vigilante provided him with.

That day he spends tracking down a forger who does his job well without asking questions. Vladimir pays him extra just in case and in the afternoon he has a new set of IDs under the name of Anton Gorodetsky*.

He experiences the absence of Matt almost like a physical pain. Even though they were not that tactile in their “relationship”, he’s somehow suffering from the lack of it. Matt’s occupying his thoughts whenever his mind wanders off from the matters at hand which actually happens too often.

The bed in the safehouse seems even more uncomfortable than the couch at Matt’s flat but Vladimir does not think about how it’s not the mattress that’s at fault but the place itself. It’s almost as empty and impersonal as the vigilante’s flat but it’s not really a matter of furnishings, isn’t it?

That night he buys himself a bottle of vodka and drinks in the memory of his brother until he passes out.

ж

"You're back," Matt says when he walks into his flat to find Vladimir looking out of the window at people below and it's difficult for Vladimir to read his tone. The vigilante tries to be indifferent but there's a hint of accusation in his voice. And relief. The man looks beaten up even though, thankfully, there are no conspicuous bloodstains on vigilante’s outfit. Vladimir wants to yell at the man for going out to fight after he barely recovered from the meeting with Nobu but it feels like the worst thing to do right now. Matt looks like someone who needs a pat on the back, not a scolding, and not from someone who left him for days without a word when they still had the soulmate issue to deal with.

"I needed to take care of some things," he replies truthfully. He doesn't add that he wasn’t sure if he’d return but he couldn't go on without knowing if Matt isn't bleeding out on his couch by himself and the safehouse was empty, empty, _empty_...

"I had a really fucked up evening," Matt confesses all of a sudden and before the Russian can ask, he's being pushed into the the cold window pane and there are eager lips on his.

It shouldn't happen like this. If it should happen at all... But Vladimir cannot resist Matt's kiss and reciprocates it with a low groan, the tension they never wanted to acknowledge finally finding vent. When Vladimir slides his hands into the vigilante’s hair, the man's mouth fall open to welcome the Russian's tongue and _fuck_ , this has no right to feel _this good_. Vladimir’s skin feels too hot on his neck where Matt's brushes it with his hand and he needs to be _closer_.

Vladimir takes off vigilante’s shirt and immediately puts his lips onto the other man’s neck, kissing the exposed skin until he comes across the soulmate Mark and bites lightly into the collarbone. Matt groans at that, his groin thrusting into Vladimir’s hip and the Russian can already feel his half-hard cock through the fabric of their trousers. Matt hurries to remove Vladimir’s t-shirt as well and _fuck_ , their chests meet skin to skin and that shitty book did not lie how incredibly good it feels between soulmates. They go back to kissing frantically, overwhelmed but greedy for more. Matt sucks Vladimir’s lower lip until it’s swollen and the Russian is sure all of his blood has left his brain and travelled south.

“Bed,” Matt breathes out as he takes a step back and even that little of a distance makes Vladimir flinch from the absence. They move swiftly towards the bed and Matt lays down on his back before pulling the Russian down to join him. They get rid of their shoes and socks hastily and finally they kiss again, almost reassuringly after the brief separation, as Vladimir settles himself on top of Matt. The vigilante shivers with almost every touch of the Russian’s calloused hands. He said his senses were heightened and that must also include the sense of touch. How must it feel for Matt if Vladimir already seems so overwhelmed with the closeness of his soulmate without having the sensations enhanced?

Matt’s hips pushes up to meet with Vladimir’s and they moan in unison as their still clad cocks brush against each other and it reminds the Russian that they are wearing too many clothes. Matt seems to have the same idea in mind because he lifts his hips again but this time to work on his fly and then start pushing the trousers down. Vladimir is welcomed by the sight of Matt’s erection enfolded by black silk underwear that is distinctively female lingerie. The tip of his cock is protruding from behind the finishing line of simple lace and Vladimir’s mouth water at the sight. When Matt is out of the trousers he must notice the other man’s stillness and clearly takes it the wrong way.

“It’s the only kind I can wear, it all feels like sandpaper on my skin--” he does not manage to finish when the Russian goes down and starts mouthing at his cock, still with the layer of black silk between his tongue and Matt’s erection, and grunts with appreciation. Matt looks gorgeous in just the lingerie, with visible blush on his face and chest, panting slightly from arousal. He moans loudly when Vladimir licks over the head of his cock where it’s not clad by the silk and his hands move to sink into the blond hair. “ _Fuck_ , Vladimir, _more_ \--”

The Russian slides the vigilante’s underwear down ever so slightly and takes the head into his mouth and sucks while his hands slowly stroke Matt’s thighs. His own cock is aching still in the restraint of his jeans but Matt’s breathy moans are enough of gratification for now.

“Vlad-- Vladimir,” Matt’s hands clench harder in his hair and he stops. “I want-- I need you inside me.”

Vladimir’s hips thrust involuntarily at the very thought, the little friction from his jeans making him grunt quietly. “How could I refuse, милый'.”

Matt huffs out a short laugh and motions with his hand to the bedside table. Vladimir does not have to rummage long to find a bottle of lubricant and a condom. He coats his fingers in the lube but does not pull the lingerie off, just slides it down Matt’s hips enough to have free access to the vigilante’s hole. The movement of the fabric along Matt’s hard shaft makes him shiver and then moan out loud when Vladimir slides in the first finger.

Vladimir slowly works the other man open, leaving a trail of kisses on all of the skin he can reach, on vigilante’s thighs, hips, abdomen, and occasionally on his cock. Matt calls him a tease and begs for more whenever the Russian waits too long with adding another finger.

Vladimir is already addicted to the closeness, how every touch of his mouth to the vigilante’s skin seems to burn his lips and tongue in the best of ways, how the other man’s chokes on his own breath whenever he tries to stifle a moan, how beautiful Matt is when he surrenders to him...

When Matt starts fucking himself on the Russian’s three fingers, his hips moving impatiently, Vladimir decides he’s ready. Matt grunts with frustration when Vladimir removes his fingers to finally take off his own jeans and underwear. Then the Russian slowly slides the silk lingerie down Matt’s legs and throws it away onto the floor.

“I cannot see your face but I can tell you’re sad to see them go,” Matt says smugly and Vladimir can’t deny it in the slightest.

“If you could see yourself in them, you’d know why,” he replies as he pulls the condom on with shaking hands and positions himself back between the other man’s legs. Matt is smiling blissfully but his expression soon changes into more concentrated one when Vladimir finally enters him. Matt moans loudly, his eyes shutting and hands clenching hard around the sheets. Vladimir pushes in slowly, afraid he’s going to come here and now from how improbably good it feels. When he’s fully in, he takes a deep breath and stills for a moment. He lowers himself just enough to be able to put his lips on the soulmate Mark on Matt’s collarbone and lick the inked skin.

“Если ты будешь сожалеть об этом утром,” Vladimir murmurs against his skin. “То я превращусь в наркомана, вечно жаждущего непостижимого.”

“What are you sayin--?” Matt starts to ask but he’s interrupted by his own moan when Vladimir finally moves his hips back and pushes into the vigilante’s body. “I don’t understand, Vladimir--”

But the Russian is not eager to translate his words, he spoke them in his native language on purpose, he cannot have Matt knowing how lost he is already. He quickens up his pace when Matt moves to meet his thrusts and soon the vigilante is unable to form any coherent thoughts. Vladimir swallows his moans as he kisses the other man’s lips and then moves back to mouthing at his neck and chest. Matt’s hands are holding his arms, his nails digging into the Russian’s biceps in tandem with every thrust.

“You feel so _good_ , Matt, Боже мой…” Vladimir knows he’s talking nonsense but he cannot stop himself. He’s close and he wants to see Matt come first so he reaches with his hand and wraps it around the other man’s cock. It doesn’t take much then, Vladimir pumps the vigilante’s shaft in the rhythm of his thrusts and soon Matt is coming all over his stomach, his insides clenching around the Russian, and it’s a sight Vladimir is never going to forget. Vladimir fucks him through his orgasm and few frantic thrusts later he reaches his own, profanities in Russian mixing on his tongue with Matt’s name.

When the world comes back into focus, Vladimir pulls out, takes the condom off, ties it sloppily and throws it on the floor next to the bed to be taken care of later. Matt draws him back closer for a kiss and Vladimir allows it, it’s slow and affectionate and tastes like something forbidden.

They don’t say anything when Vladimir stays in the bed and Matt puts his head on the Russian’s chest and snuggles closer before they fall asleep.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> кретин (kretin) - cretin
> 
> милый - pretty
> 
> Если ты будешь сожалеть об этом утром, то я превращусь в наркомана, вечно жаждущего непостижимого  
> (Yesli ty budesh' sozhalet' ob etom utrom, to ya prevrashchus' v narkomana, vechno zhazhdushchego nepostizhimogo)  
> \- If you regret it in the morning, you will change me into a junkie forever craving what I cannot have
> 
> Боже мой (Bozhe moy) - oh my god
> 
> \---
> 
> * Anton Gorodetsky is a name of the main character from “Night Watch” series by Sergei Lukyanenko. It’s one of my favourite book series of all time and I love Anton so I just couldn’t resist using his name here for Vladimir’s new identity :3
> 
> \---
> 
> The credit for lingerie-wearing Matt goes to [ Kasss](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kasssumi), it’s her headcanon and I _love_ it and this one’s for you hon  <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm not dead and so isn't this fic. I know it's been ages (a year) since I updated this fic. I planned on resurrecting it for season 2 but you can see yourselves that didn't work out.  
> But I'm back, finally. This chapter is not a long one (not much for a comeback) but I am following the plan I had for this fic when I first started writing it - since the next chapter will be the last one I don't see much sense in applying changes to my first outline. So, yeah, I hope you'll enjoy this short chapter and get to witness the ending of this story this summer :)
> 
> Also, _thank you so much_ for continuing to read and leave kudos and comments during that last year. I am still overwhelmed with the response this fic got. You're awesome  <3

Vladimir is the first to wake up and if he’s honest with himself, he wished for it to be the other way. Considering they are in Matt’s bed, the vigilante is the one who can throw him out of it and he would have prefered for it to happen without actually waiting for it. Yesterday Matt was the one to kiss him but consent doesn’t mean there wouldn’t be regret in the morning. And Vladimir is not going to amuse himself by thinking that Matt may actually commit to a relationship with a mobster.

Matt is still draped over his chest. It’s a miracle in itself Vladimir’s left arm is just slightly numb and didn’t go to sleep altogether with the other man laying on it for hours. _Fuck_ , it’s good to have Matt so close, if just for  a short time, _his_ and addicting. Vladimir never looked forward to finding his soulmate but now he feels it’s going to be impossible to let go of this ridiculous feeling of completeness.

He allows the misery that hatched in him with Anatoly’s death be fed with the anxiety as he waits for Matt to wake, drowning himself in the bitter-sweet feeling of unease mixed with the rewarding  proximity of his soulmate. Fortunately it’s not that long before he hears the change in the other man’s breathing and he starts to stir.

“Good morning,” Vladimir says, immediately regretting it didn’t sound more smug.

“Hi,” Matt replies but he doesn’t look like he’s about to move any soon. Quite the opposite, he snuggles closer to lie on Vladimir’s chest. Vladimir is far from complaining as long as Matt is not kicking him out.

“I know this guy…” Matt says when Vladimir starts to think he fell asleep again. “We were close once. He told me if I, uh… I'd have to push the people that I care about away… if I wanted to be effective at what I do.”

“You don’t have to quote your mentor to make me go, герой*,” Vladimir murmurs, moving as if to get up but Matt keeps him in place.

“I thought I didn’t listen to him,” he continues once the Russian relaxes on the bed again. “This guy, he has a way of, uh… getting in your head, you know? And here's the thing… I had a really shitty night. The kind where you think you've seen the bottom of humanity, and the pit just keeps getting deeper, you know? And you, my soulmate” he says the word slowly, as if amazed by how they taste in his mouth “whom I only just found in the least expected of places, you were gone as well… And I was just so _alone._ ”

“Don’t tell me you missed a Russian gangster from your couch,” Vladimir barks out a laugh but they both know it’s more of a nervous reaction than mocking tease. “You must know, _this_ can’t work, you are a hero who beats people like me at night.”

Matt moves around so he can put his hand on Vladimir’s left forearm, where his soulmate Mark is.

“But you came back.”

Vladimir hums in response, not really sure how to respond. He’s not ready to admit out loud that he was unable to stay away for more than a couple of days. They lay there in silence for a while, Matt still stroking the skin where he knows the Russian’s Mark is.

When Vladimir starts to fall asleep again, Matt rises until he’s straddling the other man’s hips. That makes Vladimir wide awake in an instant.

“Tell me about your Marks,” he says.

Vladimir clears his throat to stall but then the words leave his mouth and he finds it’s not that difficult to talk about them when it’s for Matt. Every time he mentions a new one, he first says where it is so Matt can touch the marked skin. He tells the story of the pin-up lady that appeared after he came to terms with his sexuality, about the stars on his collarbones and how they recently changed, about the skull on his right forearm that symbolizes the first time he took somebody’s life, about the cross on his chest that appeared to mockingly remind him about his lost faith, about all the others he sometimes wishes would disappear and these that are cherished by him... He talks and Matt listens and touches and Vladimir doesn’t remember ever being so vulnerable in front of someone other than Anatoly.

“Your turn,” Vladimir says when he’s done because he’s been fascinated by Matt’s Marks from the very beginning and he’s not going to miss a chance to learn more about them.

“You’ll need to help me with that,” Matt admits with a smile. “Foggy helps me to keep track of them but I don’t feel too familiarised with them… You know, when we became roommates and Foggy found out I haven’t had anyone check my skin for them for years, he almost tore my sweater off of me himself to do it for me.” Matt laughs at loud and the sound settles warmly in Vladimir’s chest. He doesn’t think about it too much.

Vladimir cups Matt’s right hand in his and inquires about the dots on his fingertips.

“It’s in Braille. It means _to see_ ,” Matt explains with a bitter smile on his lips. It is quite self-explanatory what event in Matt’s life these represent.

Then he reaches for Matt’s other hand, strokes the lines depicting a paper bracelet around the wrist.

“Remember the man who told me not to get close to people? It’s a memento about the times when I got close to him.”

Vladimir kisses fingers of both his hands before he lets them go and touches the barely legible word right where Matt’s heart it. It says _Margaret._

“My mother.” He adds nothing more. Vladimir doesn’t ask.

The Russian’s hands fall to where clearer words mark the other man’s thigh.

“ _Nelson & Murdock,_” Matt says as if he was reading them off of his skin. “When we decided we will go independent. Foggy designed us a logo which apparently ended up not only outside our door but also on me.”

Vladimir wants to move to Matt’s back where the statue of liberty and the bloody boxer gloves are but they are interrupted by a ringing mobile phone. Vladimir allows himself to appreciate the view of naked Matt walking to the living room to find his phone. He continues to observe him and after few exchanged words he sees it on the vigilante’s face that the call brought bad news.

Vladimir approaches him slowly and puts a hand on his shoulder. Matt covers it with his and soon hangs up.

“A journalist who was helping us with Fisk…” he starts explaining but he clearly has difficulty putting what he just heard into his own words. “A _friend_....” he adds, almost corrects himself. “He was shot. Murdered.”

Vladimir tightens his grip on the vigilante’s shoulder. He knows too well there are no right words to be said in such a moment.

ж

Vladimir doesn’t accompany Matt when he leaves for the funeral but follows him to the cemetery.  He knows it’s not much of a support in the situation but it’s best he can do. The only people who know about his existence in the vigilante’s life is that Foggy guy and the nurse and this is not the right time to announce it - if they are ever going to, that is. Vladimir is still a presumed dead mobster and Matt is a lawyer who tries to establish a brand. If they’ll be lunatic enough to give being together a chance, it will never be a public relationship. Still, knowing Matt can hear his heartbeat and pick up his distant presence with his ridiculous senses, Vladimir decides to go.

He doesn’t want to attract attention by being the weird person standing outside the crowd gathered for the funeral, so once he recognizes which part of the cemetery he’s in, he wanders off…

Sitting in front of his brother’s and his graves is strangely soothing. He stays there after the funeral ends, aware that Matt and his friends will mourn together afterwards. He stays there until he almost can’t feel his fingers from the cold piercing wind. When his stomach growls loudly, destroying the calming silence of the place, Vladimir finally leaves.

He’ll wait for Matt at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *герой - hero


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're feeling like in [this tweet](https://twitter.com/Iexbie/status/943692408147103749), I don't blame you XD I didn't acquire any kids but I did turn from sad tired uni student into a sad tired adult with an actual job.
> 
> So, I know this chapter isn't that good. I actually started it back when I was still semi-regularly posting this fic and then worked on it a bit there and a bit there all this time. It was just really hard to write for a ship that you're not that into anymore. Mattimir was a bit of a one-night-stand ship for me. But, also, I didn't want to leave this fic unfinished forever. Somehow it has become one of the most kudosed fics of this ship and I still can't believe it and I'm so grateful to all of you <3 So this is my little gift for you. I know it's not perfect but I did what I could. It is _an ending_.
> 
> This chapter takes place during the last episode of "Daredevil" season 1.

“Kicking ass will do me good,” Vladimir says when Matt still doesn’t look convinced. The vigilante is putting on his black outfit but Vladimir is all set to go out without a lot of preparation. He only needed to add a makeshift mask to what he’s wearing every day. Hoffman would most likely recognize him without it and as they’re getting him in order to force him to sell Fisk’s secrets to the authorities, Vladimir prefers to stay dead in his eyes. “Backup won’t hurt you and I’ll stop going crazy. Turns out being dead is boring.”

Matt almost pouts but it looks like he’s not up for dragging the discussion. “Okay, but if you don’t keep up, don’t expect me to wait.”

Vladimir grins and Matt shakes his head at him.

ж

“What the hell was that?”

They were silent all the way back to Matt’s apartment but the moment they got in, the vigilante tore the mask off of his face in anger and faced Vladimir.  He has every right to be furious, Vladimir came back to his old habits too easily once he got a taste of violence again. But then, he was a Russian mobster most of his life. He can’t just erase that in a few days spent with his righteous soulmate.

“Why did you stab that man? You didn’t have to--” he doesn’t finish, just huffs out a breath, disappointed.

“It was my knife or his bullet.”

Matt just shakes his head. Vladimir can sense what the man isn’t saying out loud. _If I managed to do it without casualties, you should have, too._

Vladimir doesn’t add that the gun that he stopped that man from firing wasn’t pointed at him, but at the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.

“I know these last days were pleasant and all,” Vladimir says instead. “But I think you already forgot who I was before I started living on your couch.”

Matt huffs out a breath angrily, his hands are clenched tight in fists. But he stays still, doesn’t reply in any way. Vladimir was actually expecting a punch to his face.

“Listen,” Vladimir starts but then hesitates for a moment, “I am not a good person… I still think that whatever makes people soulmates mocked us…”

Vigilante’s anger seems to subside but now Vladimir can see a mix of frustration and resignation on his face.

“But we _are_ soulmates and I care about you,” Vladimir admits. Matt seems startled but still says nothing. “I lost everything… And then got you… I was thinking what that means for me,” he pauses again, running a hand nervously through his hair. He’s not good at this. Anatoly and him didn’t really need to talk about their feelings, they understood each other without words. But now the situation has changed and he must adapt. He _wants_ to change and that’s what he needs to finally stammer out of himself. “I’m dead to the world. There is nothing keeping me in my old life. I don’t think I will ever get a better chance to change things… I want to. I just don’t know how long it will take... _Or if it_ _is_ _possible_ ,” he sighs. “I was never given much, from the world, from life… I had to fight for everything, spill blood to save my own. It’s a habit hard to forget.”

Matt takes it in, standing in silence. The stillness couldn’t have lasted more than a minute but for Vladimir it feels like eternity before the vigilante speaks.

“Well, you can start by listening to me when I tell you not to do something,” he says finally and it looks like he wants to continue the lecture but he’s interrupted by his phone ringing. As they expected, the policeman that they told Hoffman to turn to has called to summon Nelson and Murdock. Vladimir leaves Matt to change back to his lawyer persona and he heads to the bathroom.

When Vladimir showers, he notices a new Mark on his hip. It’s a yin yang sign but its edges are blurred, the white and black without visible borders but fading into one another. He lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

ж

Vladimir must admit that watching the coverage of Fisk’s arrest is satisfying - not as satisfying as crushing his skull would be but he is supposed to be on his way to _reformed_ , isn’t he?

Now that Fisk is apprehended, Vladimir should be dropped off at a nearest police station by the Mask as well. That was Matt’s initial plan, but things have complicated beyond anyone’s expectations... Well, Matt could still believe that putting Vladimir in the hands of the system is a good way to redeem him. Vladimir said it himself he wants a change in his life… How will Matt interpret that? What will he see best for his soulmate?

For now, Vladimir decides to follow Matt’s advice and listen to the man. He doesn’t run. He stays on the couch  with a celebratory beer and Matt’s laptop open to the news feed dedicated to Fisk’s apprehension.

ж

“Congratulations,” Vladimir says when Matt arrives at the flat. Vladimir expected Matt would celebrate Fisk’s arrest with his friends and he wasn’t wrong. It’s visible in the vigilante’s posture that he’s smug and relaxed - and a little bit intoxicated. It’s a good look on him, the lazy smile and the absence of tenseness that seemed to never leave him lately.

“You helped some,” Matt admits, taking his shoes off.

Vladimir snorts. “You know how to compliment a man,” he replies, his voice playful. Matt answers with a smile. He takes off his jacket and throws it on the kitchen chair. Vladimir expects him to stay in the area and treat himself with more alcohol from the fridge, but after a little hesitation, Matt walks to the couch  and takes a seat next to Vladimir. They’re barely touching but it’s the closest they’ve been since the night they went out together to get Hoffman and their _talk_ afterwards.

“So,” Vladimir starts hesitantly but fights his reluctance to go straight to the matter. “I _helped you some_ with putting Fisk behind bars, the reason you decided to keep me on your couch…” Matt turns his face slightly in his direction, waiting for the punchline. “What now? Do I join Fisk in jail?”

Matt visibly tenses but doesn’t say anything.

“That was the plan - or am I wrong?”

“Shut up,” Matt says suddenly, he gets closer, puts his hands on Vladimir’s chest and crashes their mouths together. Vladimir returns the kiss with urgency, as if he were to be deprived of the closeness any second. He hums with approval when Matt climbs into his lap, deepening the kiss. He prefers this turn of the evening much more than the discussion about their future.

ж

_… what appears now to be some sort of firefight involving the FBI transport carrying Wilson Fisk. Uh, Janet, can you confirm what we’re seeing here?_

They almost ignore it, dozing off on the couch, their half-naked bodies wrapped around each other. But Matt’s incredible hearing doesn’t fail him and he jumps off the couch towards the chest where he keeps the Mask’s suit. Vladimir gets up after him. The laptop is still covering Fisk’s escape in the background. Vladimir has a ridiculous urge to punch it, as if that would help anything.

“Let me go with you,” he says, zipping his trousers and already locating his shirt but Matt shakes his head.

“No.” His voice is hard and allows no objections. “I need to do it my way.”

Vladimir doesn’t really want to have another discussion about their differing moralities and methods. Especially now,  when Fisk is getting away as they’re speaking. He lets out a long breath, then approaches the other man by the chest. Vladimir leans to browse through it as Matt laces his shoes. When the vigilante turns back to the chest for the last piece of his suit, it’s Vladimir who hands him the mask.

“Go get him.”

ж

Matt gets him. Of course. Vladimir doesn’t follow but once again waits for him in the flat. This time Fisk stays where he belongs.

They don’t discuss Vladimir’s future. Matt goes back to his life. He has some gains and losses from the last weeks – both as lawyer and a masked man, now known as Daredevil. One of them in a form of a soulmate. Vladimir isn’t sure whether that counts as a gain or a loss for Matt. He doesn’t ask anymore, just accepts what he’s being given.

One day, soon after Fisk is actually put in jail, Vladimir leaves. He vacates the vigilante’s flat soon after Matt goes out to his day work. This time Vladimir is not worried Matt will take his prolonged absence the wrong way because they both know he will return. Neither of them know how to be together but they can’t stay apart as well. He will leave and come back and leave again in an endless cycle.

Then maybe, one day, Vladimir will stay for good.

 

| the end |

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you all who left kudos and comments <3 Being a part of this fandom was nothing but pleasure!

**Author's Note:**

> PS: I'm on [tumblr](http://missmho.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/hoodedmiho) if anyone wants to fangirl over Matt Murdock's puppy eyes.  
> 


End file.
